The Muse (5 page)

“Yes, sir.  I found him to be very agreeable and we discussed portraits in particular.  Do you know Lord Rothvale well, Mr. Hargreave?”

“Very well.  We met up in our school days.  Jules, Graham, and I all up together at Eton, and as thick as thieves since,” he announced, grinning.  “He’s an expert on paintings and very cultured, fluent in French and Italian.  I daresay he would have devoted all of his time solely to art pursuits if fate had not intervened and made him the heir to the barony and Gavandon.”

“He was not born the heir?”

“No, he is a second son.  His elder brother died some years ago now, and under…difficult circumstances.  Graham has borne a great many burdens and troubles since, but you would not hear him tell of it.  The loss of both of his parents, responsibilities for a younger brother,
and
Parliamentary obligations in the House of Lords…you can see his plate has been rather full.  His brother Colin, is nearly five years his junior, and also here for our wedding, having just one more term at Cambridge, Trinity, before he completes his formal studies.  A serious scholar, Colin is—mathematics and astronomy.  He researches for Sir William Herschel, you know, the discoverer of the new planet,
Georgium Sidus
, cataloguing and mapping stars for him.  The brothers are close, and more loyal friends could not be found.  We do not share blood, but almost.  Rothvale and Colin are Jules’s cousins on their fathers’ side.  I am Jules’s cousin on our mothers’ side.  We feel like family.”

Imogene listened to every word Mr. Hargreave had to share during their set and she had to wonder why he was so forthcoming about Lord Rothvale and his family.  She was greatly interested, but still, this whole evening was turning out very differently from what she had imagined.  She got that feeling again, that flutter inside her stomach.  There was that sense of change and she was on the edge.

As the dance with Mr. Hargreave ended, Lord Rothvale pulled up to return Mrs. Hargreave to her husband.  He then faced Imogene solemnly.  “Miss Byron-Cole, would you bestow me the honor of the final set of the evening?”

“I was wondering, my lord, if you had formally asked for the final set before.  I was not completely sure.”

He made a slight tightening of his jaw. “I did assume and I humbly offer apology for my presumption.  But will you…give me the final set?”

Imogene regarded him and the look upon his face told her he would be crushed if she declined.  She took pity on him immediately, for the thought of causing him distress bothered her.  “Oh, why not.  Yes, I believe I will,” she said teasingly.  “I am often accused of being too solemn, my lord, so if I must be jovial tonight I daresay others must join me in the expression.”

“Well said, Miss Byron-Cole.” He gifted her with a glowing smile and looked dashingly handsome doing it.  Imogene got the feeling Lord Rothvale did not pass along smiles freely, so the fact he was giving them to her made her feel special.  They stood together for a moment and Imogene repeated the behaviour she had indulged in quite a few times over the course of the evening, looking into his eyes and forgetting there was a party going on around them.

GRAHAM was a vivid dreamer.  Not so much in the sense of a visionary, but he regularly experienced visualization of scenes that appealed to him and had vibrant dreams while sleeping.  Tonight a new presence entered his subconscious just like he knew it would, tormenting him in all manner of ways.

He’d expected to be tormented, too, so his dreams were no surprise.  Some of his visions were honorable, some downright unmentionable, but always there, forceful, arousing, and compelling.  He could not get her out of his head, and did not want to.  One idea stood out above all others though. 
Mine…

Imogene Byron-Cole was meant for him.

He was lost.  So lost, already.

And all he could think about—dream of—all he could see…was her.

How sweet is harmless solitude!

What can its joys control?

Tumults and noise may not intrude,

To interrupt the soul.

Marie Mollineau   ~ ‘Solitude,’ 1670

IMOGENE
went straight to Terra in the stall just like he’d expected.  Graham watched everything from the doorway as he leaned against it.

Terra stamped her hooves and nickered, excited to see her mistress who draped her arms around the beast’s neck and rested her cheek there.  Imogene’s eyes were closed as she indulged in the simple joy of reuniting. God she looked fine today, fitted into a blue riding dress that contrasted her colouring perfectly.  He wanted to touch her.

What if she held on to me like that?
Graham was reluctant to break the spell of the moment.   He watched instead, a voyeur, held in his place by the scene before him.  Finally he spoke up, “It is hard to tell who has missed the other more.”

Imogene jumped, releasing Terra and stepping away.  “Oh, Lord Rothvale—you are h-here,” she stammered.

“I am.”  He grinned at how she’d worded it.  “That sounds as if you were anticipating me?”  He asked the question and loved the flush that crept up her beautiful neck.

“No.”  She swallowed hard and looked back at Terra, not at all effective in covering up her lie.  “Yes well, Terra and I are very close.  We have been together for five years and she is the dearest, best friend a girl could ever have.  I should be lost without her.”

“Indeed, she is lucky to have such a loving, benevolent mistress.  Will you ride today?  It is very cold.”  The idea of her off alone did not set well.  At all.

“Yes, I shall.  I’ve prepared for it and dressed warmly.  I’m afraid I’m not content to sit inside all day.”

“And you ride alone?  What if you should encounter trouble or have an accident?”  He tried to keep his voice even but feared that was impossible. 
I’d never allow it if you were mine.

“That is a sentiment I hear often, my lord.  My reply to it is this: I am a fairly capable rider, and Terra is reliable.  My uncle, Sir Oliver, has restricted my riding to the Kenilbrooke estate when I am solitary, with Mr. Hargreave’s kind approval and knowledge.  I must always notify Mr. Jacks, the manager when I set out, so he can mark the time as I am allowed two hours.”  Her eyes swept down.  “You see?  I have many gallant protectors watching over me and we have worked out an arrangement that suits everybody.”

“It does not suit me.”  He wanted to tell her to come into the house instead and that she would definitely not be riding alone today, but how in the hell could he do that?  He had no claim over her.  Not yet at least.

“I beg your pardon?”  She widened her eyes at him.

“Miss Byron-Cole, I don’t doubt your level of competence, it is clearly evident you
can
ride, but you cannot say you have control over all the unexpected dangers that exist.”  Graham knew he sounded hard but he did not want her to go alone and that was all there was to it.

“No sir, I cannot control every danger in the world,” she admitted, her face flushing.  “Something I know to be true.  Sadly, that has been made very clear to me in my life,” she trailed off, like she regretted saying the last part.

As it has also been made clear to me.

“So you would willingly expose yourself to danger, Miss Byron-Cole?  How could you do it?  And even to the ones who care for you?”

“Sir, I would not consciously wish to give pain to any of those who care for me.  You do not know me, or you would not suggest such a thing.  It is simply—it is necessary for me to do this,” she said, her voice growing softer as she continued to look down, “for it is all that remains of my life…from before.”

He’d struck a nerve and she took him to task for it.  This girl had some spirit in her.  And he would so love to be the beneficiary of that spirit.  Images of beds and bodies entwined flashed through his head again.  He really was losing his mind he was sure.  He walked up to her and took a finger to her chin.  He added some gentle pressure.  “Look at me.”

She opened her beautiful eyes as she lifted her face upon his command.  Graham swallowed hard as she complied.  Everything about her got to him - her acquiescence, her beauty, her voice, even her scent.  The shape of her face was distinctive - high cheekbones and a wide mouth with beautiful lips he wanted to taste.  Her eyes were brown but there was nothing dull about them.  They sparkled with flecks of gold and green and amber.  It was the same with her hair, not really brown, but shimmering with light throughout.  He wanted his hands in her hair, pulling her against him to accept his touch and body inside hers.  Oh yes.  He’d had plenty of those thoughts already.  He wanted Imogene in his bed, underneath him, taking him in as he made love to her.

Her eyes grew wet as he tipped her chin up to look at him.  He dropped his finger.

To refrain from touching her took all of his strength.  He could see her distress at being reminded of painful remembrances, and knowing a little of them already from his family, he wanted to comfort and soothe her.

Graham couldn’t help looking longingly before speaking, his eyes sweeping over her from head to toe.  She was dressed in riding clothes.  The tight jacket fitted over willowy curves that looked too damn delectable for her to be off all on her own.  “But I want to know you…
very
much.”

She took in a sharp breath that made her breasts rise up underneath the jacket.

“If I could go with you today I would.”  He
should
be with her, but he knew that wouldn’t be happening today.  “Damn propriety!”  The frustration of being unable to act, forced him to say goodbye so he could leave her to her riding.  It would be best for him to take his sorry lump of flesh away from her before he did something really stupid anyway.  Like try to kiss her.  God, he wanted to.  “I regret causing you distress just now.  Please forgive me?  I do hope you have a safe and pleasant ride.”

Imogene’s eyes flared at him.  Frozen, she stared for a minute and then nodded an acknowledgement of his apology.  He wished she’d say something more, but she stayed quiet.  A blast of autumn air blew into the stables at that moment, lifting her hair and making it dance.   The chill in the air made her shiver.  He saw it happen as clear as day and wondered if it was really the chill, or had it been what he’d said to her.

“Miss Byron-Cole, until next time.”  He bowed, turned on his heel and left her in the stables.
  God help me to walk away.  Just get me off without some grave breech of manners.  If something happens to her I don’t know what—

Graham talked in his head all the way back to the house, whipping stray stalks with his riding crop mercilessly as he went.  He made it back in time to see her ride out from the window, hair streaming behind her in the cold wind.  It was the longest two hours he could remember spending.  He reread the same passage in his book over and over until he grew disgusted and flung it down.

Graham welcomed the relief that washed over him when he saw her ride back in.  He observed her signal to Mr. Jacks that she had safely returned.  The pang in his chest drilled through his body as she galloped down the drive, away from Kenilbrooke, away from where he was.

Graham was well aware of the constraints of society.  Imogene was aware, too.  They understood the rules.  He could not go with her alone.  Someone was needed who could serve as chaperone.  If it weren’t for those rules she would be in his arms already and his lips would know what it felt like to be against hers. A plan began to form of a possible solution to this hindrance.  Graham went in search of his sweet cousin Elle.

A week later and Graham could not remember a more pleasant time at church.  The lovely view of Imogene’s profile as she sat with her family was his sole focus and he relished it gratefully.  The rector’s droning message, uninspiring and condescending in tone, was put aside as he allowed himself to study her intently without too conspicuous of notice by others, or so he thought.

In the churchyard, Graham watched his cousin, Elle, approach to invite Imogene and her family to the games that had been organized at Kenilbrooke for the recreation of the young people.  Imogene appeared to accept the invitation gracefully, and chatted easily with her new friend.  Jules and Hargreave were watching everything transpire, too, and apparently with great amusement.  Graham felt clearly on edge, not completely sure if he should approach Elle and Imogene, but it was obvious he wouldn’t be able to stay away for long.  His self-control evaporated when it came to her. 
Keep talking, Elle,
he begged silently.  Finally, he started toward them, hat in hand.

Behind him, Hargreave and Jules were in full amusement.  “He is moving in,” Hargreave whispered loud enough for him to hear.

“Yes, yes, go to her, my boy,” Jules mocked.

“Ease your beating heart, lad,” Hargreave sang.  They laughed together and took sport at his expense.

Graham turned back and glared over his shoulder.  “Would you two shut up!”

“Good day to you, Miss Byron-Cole, a pleasure to see you again so soon.” Jules probably thought his imitation was amusing, but Graham wanted to land him on his arse.

“Oh, Miss Byron-Cole, would you do me the honor of partnering me at croquet?” Hargreave imitated next.  They collapsed into laughter then, and were so noisy that people around them were beginning to laugh as well, without even knowing of the joke.

Imogene definitely heard them and turned to look at them quizzically.

Elle looked over as well, disbelievingly.

Graham glanced back again at the idiots and thought fondly of disembowelment.

“Miss Everley, why are your brother and Mr. Hargreave laughing like schoolboys in the churchyard?” he heard Imogene ask.

Elle replied, shaking her head, “I am sure I do not know, Miss Byron-Cole, their behaviour is very odd.”

Graham went next as he pulled up into their conversation.  “I know why.  They are absolute, insensible idiots.”  He bowed.  “Miss Byron-Cole, I look forward to seeing you this afternoon at Kenilbrooke.”

“Lord Rothvale.”  That was all she said.  His name.  It was enough for him though.  Her acknowledgement and her eyes on him were enough.  The husky sound of her voice at complete odds with her physical form, and utterly sensual in a way that made his mind turn wicked in an instant, and highly blasphemous for where he stood with her—in a churchyard.

“Until later then, ladies.”  He tipped his hat, strode away from the girls and back toward those who took their amusement at his expense.

“What in the
bloody hell
are you two doing?” he said a little too loudly, palms up.  The reverend, who was speaking to Mrs. Charleston, gasped and turned to deliver him a shocked, open-mouthed glare.  Jules and Hargreave burst into new fits of laughter at this final humiliation.  Graham winced, put his hand to his head and ground his teeth.  “Many pardons, Reverend, Madam, that was regrettable, please accept my apologies.”  He pointed his hand out and continued forward toward his source of harassment.

“Peace, Cousin.” Jules clapped Graham on the back affectionately as he drew up.

“Do you always behave this disgracefully in proper company and on the occasion of church?  It is a miracle you both have secured the society of respectable people and brides as well.  Do not ever do that again.” Graham stabbed a pointed finger at them.  "You will regret it, I promise you.  I’ll give you a basting you’ll not forget!”